


A State of Mind

by stew (julie)



Category: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-12-17
Updated: 1989-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Rawhide needs to get out of a rut, so he takes up an offer of employment with CSIRO in Canberra, Australia – and finds that the Banzai Institute does not hold a monopoly on mad scientists.
Relationships: Buckaroo Banzai & Rawhide





	A State of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> **First published:** in my zine “Samurai Errant: Cavalier Tales Quixotic and Profane” #3 on 17 December 1989

# A State of Mind

♦

‘G’day.’ The man waiting in the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation’s foyer put his magazine down, but didn’t take his feet off the desk. 

‘Howdy.’ Rawhide tipped his hat. ‘I’m –’

‘Let me guess. Rawhide from the Banzai Institute. Am I right or am I right?’

‘You’re right.’ 

The man leapt to his feet and shook Rawhide’s hand. ‘Sorry there’s not much of a reception committee. My name’s Song Kong Yong. It’s good to have you on board.’ 

‘It’s good to be here,’ Rawhide replied. 

Song didn’t seem to react to the lack of enthusiasm. ‘So what do you think of Canberra, Australia so far?’

‘I just got off the plane.’ 

‘Yeah, it strikes everyone that way at first. You’ll get used to it. It’s like a high school science excursion – you have to know which rock to turn over to find life.’ 

‘Right now, life ain’t what I’m interested in,’ Rawhide muttered. After a long moment of silence he glanced up to see Song’s rather wary expression. He grinned wryly. ‘Sorry, Mr. Yong – I meant I could do with some sleep right now. It was a hell of a flight.’

‘Easily arranged. I volunteered to have you stay in my spare bedroom, if that suits you. The guy who usually shares my house is in Vienna for a year. Unless you’d prefer a hotel or something?’ 

‘I’d be honored to stay with you, Mr. Yong. It’s kind of you to offer.’ 

‘Not so kind, I assure you – I’ll charge the CSIRO rent on your behalf! And please call me Song. Unless you want me to call you Mr. Rawhide.’

‘No, no,’ Rawhide protested, smiling despite himself. ‘That’s a nice name you have.’

‘Song is an old Chinese name, which doesn’t mean a thing, except it sounds nice in English.’

‘You’re Chinese? Chinese-Australian?’ Rawhide quickly added, ‘Don’t mean to pry.’

‘Chinese-Australian will do,’ Song eventually replied. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘I’m from Wyoming,’ Rawhide offered in turn. ‘Probably about as uncomplicated as you can get.’

For a moment it seemed as if Song would pursue some line of inquiry, but then he shook his head, and gestured back towards the main doors. ‘Let’s go get you settled.’

It was a ten minute walk through spring sunshine to Song’s home in Turner. One of the older inner suburbs, Turner was blessed with mature eucalypt and imported trees lining every street, giving a fresh and shady quality to the air. 

‘Now, this is beautiful,’ Rawhide remarked.

‘Canberra is a mixed bag – it has much beauty, and much ugliness.’

‘Well, I suppose that goes for most places.’

‘As you say,’ Song politely replied.

Soon Rawhide was stretched out across the bed that would be his for the next three months, praying for sleep. But the same thoughts that had kept him awake since leaving New Jersey returned to plague him. Every time he closed his eyes there was Buckaroo’s face, Buckaroo’s voice echoing in a replay of their last conversation. “I simply think the time is right,” Rawhide had insisted, “for me to take advantage of CSIRO’s offer. You know I’ve been wanting to work with them for a long time now.” 

“But I didn’t know you were so unhappy here, Rawhide.” 

“It’s not that I’m unhappy, exactly. I just need a change.” He’d shrugged in frustration. “If I can’t explain it to you, it’s because I hardly know why myself.” 

Buckaroo had gazed long and hard at him. When he finally spoke, his voice had cracked mid-sentence. “Will I ever see you again, my friend?” 

“Yes, of course!” But seeing the fear in Buckaroo’s face had forced him to admit – “I don’t know.” Thousands of miles away, Rawhide repeated his own words. ‘I don’t know, Buckaroo. I don’t know what I want anymore.’ 

After an hour of tossing around in an attempt to avoid the hurt in Buckaroo’s eyes, Rawhide got up. A hot shower and a change of clothes helped some. Song had left a note to say he’d gone back to work, so Rawhide followed him over. 

‘What happened to your jet lag?’

‘Jet lag’s a myth,’ Rawhide declared. No doubt seeing the bruised look around Rawhide’s eyes, Song apparently decided not to press the point. ‘So, what work does CSIRO’s Division of Entomology have for me?’ 

Song looked up. ‘I heard you were interested in house flies.’ 

‘Sure. I have this moonbeam – I mean, that’s what Buckaroo calls our pipe-dreams – about developing a high-protein livestock feed out of house flies. Solves a few problems all at once.’

‘Well, we certainly have plenty of raw material here in Australia. Also locusts. Did you know,’ Song asked, ‘that a grasshopper contains three times the protein of a T-bone steak?’ 

‘Is that so? Now all we have to do is work out how to catch and process the little beggars.’ 

‘Easy, for the flies at least. When you want to catch them, you hold a barbeque, and you arrange a great funnel overhead so that as the flies descend, they are all sucked away into a storage container.’ 

Rawhide looked at Song very thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know why I thought I could get away from mad scientists by coming over here. It’s obvious the Institute does not hold a monopoly on the breed.’

‘Too right, mate! Too right.’ 

♦

‘Song, I could do with a beer or two,’ Rawhide said as the pair walked home that evening. ‘Is that possible?’

‘A beer or three or four,’ the man agreed. ‘I have a supply on ice at home. How about we put our feet up, order some pizza, and sink a few stubbies?’ 

‘And you thought I might want to stay at a hotel? You’re crazy.’ 

By the time the pizza arrived, they had downed three stubbies each. Rawhide felt in a much happier frame of mind, and was more than content to listen to a synopsis of Song’s life history. Song recounted how he had been born in Australia, and had never left its shores – and then proceeded to describe his various adventures throughout its six States and two Territories. Like most Aussie yarns, they got taller as the narrator got drunker. 

Eventually Song turned to Rawhide and saw the man’s head nodding down onto his shoulder. Song smiled sadly. ‘It’s a tough problem that survives even jet lag, my friend.’ 

‘Buckaroo?’ Rawhide lifted his head with an effort and squinted at Song. 

‘No, only your new Australian friend.’

‘Sorry. That’s what he always calls me. “My friend”. Always so damn formal.’

‘Sounds nice.’ Song smiled again. ‘Time to get you to bed, Rawhide. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble sleeping tonight.’

Rawhide was grateful to find that Song was right.

♦

‘Hey, Song.’

‘Good afternoon, Rawhide. How are you?’ 

‘Kind of hungover. Dehydrated, I guess. But I figure that’s an improvement.’ 

‘Sure – you look much better with green tinges rather than black ones.’ 

‘Look, I’m sorry about last night. I’ve been having a rough time lately and you got the raw end of the deal.’ 

‘No problems.’ Song smiled up at Rawhide. ‘You want to see some more of this fine country?’ 

‘What do you have in mind?’ 

‘I called the Plague Locust Commission and volunteered us for a field trip. They were overjoyed, of course.’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘It’s good money – lots of overtime and allowances.’ 

‘I’m a real money-making venture for you, aren’t I, Song?’ 

‘A dream come true, mate.’ The pair grinned at each other. 

‘So where are we going? And to do what?’ 

‘Rawhide, we are off to count locusts.’ 

♦

‘You were serious about counting locusts, then?’ 

‘Would I lie to you?’ Song asked, an expression of injured innocence on his face. 

Rawhide switched off the ignition of the four-wheel drive. They sat for a few moments in silence, until Rawhide asked, ‘Run that by me again.’ 

‘We each get out different sides of the jeep, and walk fifty meters in a straight line, counting all the grasshoppers that jump up at us. We note these figures down, drive two kilometers and do the same again. And again and again, for a total of fifty klicks. It’s very scientific.’ 

‘You base all your forecasts and information about plagues of locusts on these statistics we’re currently gathering?’ 

‘Can you think of a better way?’ 

Rawhide pondered this. ‘Give me time. Just give me time. There’s got to be another way.’

‘Just wait until we go up in the plane.’ 

‘What do we do in a plane, for Pete’s sake?’ 

‘We mark the boundaries of swarms of locusts.’ 

‘Oh, yes?’ 

‘We mark the boundaries with un-rolled toilet paper.’ 

‘Song, you are obviously crazy. Why do I believe you?’ 

‘Well, how would you do it? We kneel in the plane’s belly over this hole and try not to fall out of the thing. Then when we see the swarm, we hang onto the loose end and chuck the roll out. The paper gets caught in the trees so anyone can see it. It’s a stomach-turning experience. That’s why you get the extra allowances.’ 

‘Give me time. There’s _got_ to be a better way.’ 

♦

Song took his turn driving as they headed home, south from Dubbo. Rawhide gazed out at the flat grazing country, tall gum trees dotting the landscape, the eucalypt greens dull even under the bright blue sky. ‘I need another beer,’ he announced.

‘You’re sure destroying a lot of brain cells on this trip, Rawhide. Gonna end up with your liver pickled for posterity.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Rawhide consulted the map. ‘Trewilga, in six kilometers. Can we get a beer there?’ 

‘We’ll see.’ Song nodded knowingly. 

Rawhide saw the signpost announcing the township of Trewilga coming up – and that was all. ‘Where’s the town?’ 

‘Look behind us,’ Song suggested as he drove past the sign. 

Turning in his seat, Rawhide stared back along the road. There was another signpost announcing Trewilga facing the northbound traffic, with nothing but two meters of road between the two signs. ‘Song, I’ve seen more than my fair share of ghost towns in my time, but this is ridiculous. Where’s Trewilga?’ 

Song laughed. ‘We may never know, my friend. But do not fear – we can get a beer in Parkes.’ 

♦

Back in Canberra, Rawhide buried himself in work. If he found himself thinking too much about the Banzai Institute, he’d very deliberately get drunk. Eventually Song tried to find out exactly what the problem was. 

‘I’ve been with Buckaroo from the beginning,’ Rawhide responded. ‘That’s ten years of living at the Institute. I just need something different in my life now. I need change.’ 

‘So you have it – different work for as long as you want, in a different country. Why are you still so miserable?’ 

‘Because… the Institute is all there is. But I still need change.’

When Buckaroo telephoned the following evening, Rawhide tried to explain all this to him. There was silence for a while. 

‘Maybe it’s the Institute that needs to change,’ Buckaroo finally suggested. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ 

‘I set it up to provide a life and purpose for people like you, Rawhide, and if it’s not doing that, then maybe it’s my problem and not yours.’ 

‘No. Everyone else has moved on, that’s the problem. There’s no one else left from when it all started; there hasn’t been for years now. Maybe it’s just time for me to move on, too.’ 

‘I’d give anything for that not to be true, Rawhide. It’s lonely around here without you.’ 

Rawhide whispered, ‘I’m lonely, too.’ 

After a moment, Buckaroo continued, ‘If it’s all the work you used to do for the Institute, Rawhide, all the admin and the practicalities – then we’re coping with it. Not as well as you, I grant, but it’s getting done. If you come back, there’s absolutely no need for you to take it all back on again.’ 

‘All the admin work…’ Rawhide echoed faintly. Paying the bills and stipends. Arranging the work rosters. Sorting the mail. Scheduling Buckaroo’s days. Managing the Cavaliers. He sighed. ‘Are you saying I’m not indispensable?’ 

‘Of course you’re indispensable, my friend. But this made me realize just how much energy you put into the Institute. If you come back, I promise you’ll have a lot more time to spend on your own research projects. We all came to rely on you far too much, and I’m sorry for that.’ 

‘Well, I might have needed a break, but I always did enjoy helping you run that place. You know me – I like having a finger in every pie.’ 

Buckaroo huffed a laugh. ‘I know you’re probably seething with curiosity about how we’re mismanaging this Institute of yours, eh?’

‘Are you trying to manipulate me into returning, Buckaroo?’ 

‘Any way I can, my friend. Want to see how low I can stoop?’

‘No.’ 

‘I’m sorry – I was kidding. You do what’s right for you, Rawhide. I’m trying to be brave about it, I promise.’ 

When Rawhide eventually hung up, he found himself in tears. ‘Damn him!’ 

‘Beer’s in the fridge,’ Song said helpfully. 

‘Thanks all the same, but I’ve destroyed too many brain cells over this, as you said. No wonder I can’t think of what to do.’ 

‘You must feel free to stay here as long as you need to.’ 

‘Thank you, Song.’ 

♦

One Sunday morning when the warmth of summer had overtaken the freshness of spring, Rawhide and Song walked down through the city center to the foreshores of Lake Burley Griffin. The clear sky was alive with hot air balloons of all shapes and colors, and the Canberrans were out in force. People jogged or strolled or lazed around the lake, in the formal gardens or on the grassy slopes. The National Library, all Parthenon-style marble, and the High Court, tall angular concrete and glass, were reflected in the rippling blue water.

‘It’s a beautiful city, Song. Where’s all this ugliness you used to warn me about?’ 

‘Hidden away. There’s poverty and homelessness just like any city, hidden behind this pristine, landscaped facade. Also the highest divorce and suicide rates in Australia. And a highly transient population – you make a friend here, and they move away.’ 

‘How long have you lived here?’ 

‘All my life. I was born here.’ 

‘So there must be some good points to Canberra, right? If you haven’t moved away?’ 

‘Yeah. It’s just that the bad points aren’t obvious, so I keep preaching about them to anyone who’ll listen. We really need to work on some solutions.’ 

On the walk back, the pair wandered through the University grounds. Rawhide came across a familiar smell. ‘Flapjacks!’ 

‘What?’

‘Pancakes! Lead me to them!’ The enticing smell appeared to be coming from some old tin shacks on the corner of campus nearest the CSIRO buildings. Rawhide led the way to the shack’s kitchen. ‘Right now, I would do anything for a pancake,’ he informed the motley assortment of students he found there. 

The students considered this. ‘There’s plenty to go around,’ one of them finally said, ‘but it all depends on whether you appreciate nature or not.’ 

‘Appreciate nature?’ Rawhide echoed. 

‘Of course we do, no question about it,’ Song said. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

‘This is the weekly meeting of the Corin House Nature Appreciation Society, you see.’ 

‘And we receive funding from the Student Union, which goes towards making pancakes.’ 

‘But you’ve got to appreciate nature to eat them. Otherwise we’d be misusing funds, which isn’t on.’ 

‘I see,’ said Rawhide. ‘And the university has the hide to call these student residences, I suppose? I guess you _would_ appreciate nature, living in these huts.’ 

The students agreed. ‘I suppose you could say we’re very _close_ to nature, yeah?’

‘And there _are_ those trees outside.’ 

‘I noticed a bird in one once.’ 

‘Yeah, but did you _appreciate_ the bird?’ 

‘In a very deep and meaningful way, I assure you.’ 

It was soon agreed that Song and Rawhide could have their fill of pancakes. Once it was discovered that the pair actually knew more about nature than all the students put together, it was decided that they could be regarded as guest speakers. ‘Jeez, the Union _will_ be impressed!’ 

♦

‘People need change,’ Song observed a few days before Rawhide’s employment contract with CSIRO was due to finish. ‘You’re a textbook case, Rawhide.’ 

‘Textbook case? I thought you were into insects, Song.’ 

‘I dabbled in psychology before I found my true calling.’ 

‘So why wait until now to charge me a consulting fee?’ 

‘You didn’t seem to be making much progress on your own.’ 

‘Hell, that’s the truth,’ Rawhide agreed with a grin. ‘Well, Song, I’m listening.’ 

‘People need change. About every ten years – that’s what I meant about textbooks. Most people will be able to change their job or house or family situation or friends, but you can’t. You have too many reasons to keep doing what you’re doing, where you’re doing it, and with whom you’re doing it. So the good news is that the change can simply be a state of mind. You have to find some change within yourself… You have to settle into this new you, this new way of being.’ 

‘But I don’t know what – or who – that is.’ 

‘I think Buckaroo gave you a clue when he phoned last time. You’ve been acting a little more together since then.’ 

‘He’s – I mean, _they’re_ surviving without me. People have stepped up. I think I told you about Mrs Johnson…? The Institute hasn’t fallen apart without me there.’ 

‘Is that bad?’ 

‘No. I mean, at first I thought I wanted to be appreciated as a human being, not as some marvelous management machine. But then I realized I just wanted to be free of Bucka-’

Rawhide came to an abrupt halt. 

Song didn’t interrupt the long silence. 

Finally, Rawhide brokenly filled in the gaps. ‘He hates bureaucracy. Problem – how do you set up a research institution that’s not only home for up to a hundred wacky geniuses complete with a rock ‘n’ roll band, that supports a world-wide network of people, without the machinery of bureaucracy? Solution – you don’t even know you have a problem, because your best friend does half the work and organizes the rest.’

‘You think he doesn’t realize what you’ve been doing?’ 

‘He probably has a better idea now. If I hadn’t stepped in and helped out – Hell, I enjoyed it, Song. But organization is only one of my talents. I want to work on other things now.’ 

‘I’d lay bets he’d agree.’ 

‘Song, he already offered. Says he has things running well enough – You know, I’ve got to get back!’ Rawhide leapt to his feet. ‘I mean, OK, let’s share the work out, but there’s ways of doing that, good and bad. They can all answer to me still, I’m happy with that. We’ve just got to set up the right systems. Buckaroo needn’t even know anything’s changed. To avoid the bureaucracy, we have to –’ 

Rawhide interrupted himself. ‘How much do I owe you, doc?’ 

‘Not a thing.’ 

‘You solve your friends’ problems often?’ 

‘No. So far I have a hundred percent success rate, which I am not about to jeopardize. It sounds to me as if Buckaroo has already solved a few of your problems by default.’

‘And I just had to think things through.’ 

‘It takes time, Rawhide. You were so impatient with yourself.’

‘Yeah, I’ll take some time. If we can organize things right, I’ll be back to pure research within three months! Hey, Song, you should come over for a while. In return for my work at CSIRO, you come and work with me at the Institute.’ 

‘Halfway round the world?’ 

‘Man, if you can survive Australia, you can survive anywhere. Including New Jersey.’ 

‘Rawhide, you’ve got yourself a deal.’ 

♦

‘You know what else we did at CSIRO?’ Rawhide asked a smiling Buckaroo. ‘One day we all went up through a skylight onto the roof, and dropped fly larvae down onto the sidewalk.’

‘Why on earth – ?’ 

‘Why, indeed.’ Rawhide shook his head. ‘I never figured it out myself.’ 

‘What a crazy bunch.’ 

‘I felt right at home.’ Rawhide laughed. 

Buckaroo leant back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk with an air of satisfaction. ‘It is so good to have you back, Rawhide. It’s been a long winter…’ 

‘Timed that well, didn’t I? What’s the point of globetrotting if you can’t skip winter entirely?’ 

‘I like these plans of yours,’ Buckaroo said. ‘They’ll fit in well with what we’ve tried to set up without you. I know you think I’m dreadfully naive when it comes to organization, but I do realize we have to have a certain amount of bureaucracy. What I’m sorry about is the pressure I’ve put you under.’ 

‘Well, I could have avoided that if I’d thought things through sooner.’ 

‘Ten years of habits to break – you can’t expect to work things out overnight.’ 

‘I guess not.’ 

‘Remember I said I thought maybe the Institute itself needed to change? I’ve been thinking about this – it has to remain flexible, respond to our needs. You’re my lodestone here, you know.’

‘Good heavens, Buckaroo, this sounds serious. Just because I had the sulks –’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous, my friend. What happened with you was indicative of a problem we all had. Now, put your feet up and listen to my ideas, OK?’ 

‘Yes, boss.’ Rawhide stretched back comfortably with a smile on his face. It was good to be home. 

♦


End file.
